Out of the mouths… My little parrot

Noah has been repeating things that Christian and I say lately.

I try to give the kids choices as much as possible. For example, at bedtime, instead of saying, “It’s time to go potty,” I ask, “Do you want to potty upstairs or downstairs?” Or, if they ask for juice, I say, “That’s not a choice right now. Would you like water or milk?” Today, I asked Noah and Zoe to help pick up toys, and Noah said, “No, Mommy, that’s not a choice.”

We often say, “That’s not OK, Noah,” or, “I’m not OK with that.” When I insisted that he clean up the toys, he said, “No, Mommy, I’m not OK with that.”

When I insisted again that he had to help clean up the toys, he said, “Mommy, I’m getting really tired of this.”

I guess it could be worse. When I was three, my grandpa taught me to stomp my foot and say, “I’m tired of this sh*t.” My mom loved it, I’m sure.

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